Last post by chXinya - [Ens. Irnashall “Shall ch’Xinya | Observation Lounge 4 | Deck 15 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]attn: @joshs1000
Just the sheer mention of paperwork was enough to make shall wince. "Sweet Uzaveh, some things really are universal.” The rest made his heart drop. Just the idea of losing literature, art, music, and other elements of his culture at all was upsetting, the thought of losing it to something as mundane as storage space was two much. Shall sat there in silence for a bit while Hassar finished up his work, reflecting on the uncomfortable truth that if a solution to their reproduction crisis can't be found then there won’t be any Andorians left to read all they leave behind. Sure, the remaining members of the Federation will keep their memory alive as best as they can, but how long would that last before they were nothing but a forgotten relic of galactic history?
During his musings, Shall's blue eyes wandered to the window out of habit so he missed the motions his new companion made to work out any kinks that worked their way into his muscles. The so und of a cleared throat snapped him back to the present. He returned the inquisitive gaze with a small smile and listened intently, antenna angled towards the other man. The mention of an Andorian admiral made him think hard of who that could be, but he was drawing a bland there.it didn't surprise him though, here were still plenty of the old guard serving proudly despite all the calls to retreat back to the homeworld. Now as for the specific topic he had in mind, that widened the smile on his blue face. “Now that can be a dangerous topic when time is limited.”
Leaning back in his seat, shall thought for a moment on where to start. “To start, we come from the moon Andoria, which orbits a gas giant in our home system. It's an icy moon, much colder than most Federation worlds, though the equatorial band can get warm enough for the typical oceanfront shenanigans.” His thoughts drifted to the gathering he was supposed to have had with his mates right as they went on the run. Jay had picked out one of those tropical bungalows for their second Shelthreth, and he hoped they still managed to so without him. "As for us sentient beings who evolved there, the most striking feature we have other then our skin color is our four genders. Zhen, shen, than, chan, the four foundations of our entire culture.” He tapped his chest with his fingertips, "I am a chan, the closest to what the binary sexes think of as ‘male’. Zhens are closest to the binary 'female', while shens and thaans are more androgynous to binary eyes.”
He stopped there for the moment to let Hassar process the information. [color=dodgerblue.]"Anything in particular you'd like to know?”[/color]
Colonel Xiomek did not smile when the Romulan line finally broke.
He felt it instead—the subtle shift in the rhythm of the battle, the way violence lost its cohesion and became something panicked, scattered. Sensors fed him a hundred vectors of retreat, squadrons peeling away from the flagship’s shattered command integrity, captains choosing survival over loyalty. The battlefield exhaled, and in that breath, the war ended.
“Now,” he said quietly.
Five cloaked silhouettes shimmered into murderous clarity as Reman warbirds decloaked in near-perfect unison, their emergence timed to the precise moment when the Romulan fleet attempted to flee as a whole rather than fight as one. Disruptor fire lanced outward, disciplined and merciless, cutting off escape corridors Xiomek had already mapped in his head minutes earlier.
He did not pursue them all. That was never the point.
Two Romulan cruisers vanished in expanding blossoms of emerald fire. A flight of fighters was snared by gravitic shear and shredded before they could scatter. Another capital ship lost its warp capability in a single, precise strike, forced to limp away under cloak with its escorts scrambling protectively around it.
Others escaped.
Xiomek allowed it.
“Hold formation,” he ordered. “Close ranks. Defensive posture theta-seven. We are not hunters anymore.”
His vessels obeyed instantly, tightening into a protective lattice around the battered Federation and Klingon ships. Weapons remained hot, shields reinforced, but the wild forward momentum of battle was gone. What remained was control.
The chaos—that had been familiar. Honest. Straightforward. You killed, or you died, or you endured long enough to kill again. There was clarity in it. Purpose.
What came next was something else entirely.
Xiomek leaned back slightly in his command chair, the muted glow of the Khopesh’s tactical displays reflecting off the hard lines of his face. Already, priority channels were lighting up with signals—status requests, diplomatic hails, political interests sniffing around the carcass of the fight like carrion birds.
He felt tired.
This was where men like him became inconvenient. Necessary during the bloodshed, tolerated during the fire, and quietly pushed aside once the talking began. He existed because politicians were imbeciles, because their eccentric compromises and half-measures always led, inevitably, to wars they pretended to be surprised by. Then they summoned soldiers and colonels and executioners to clean the mess.
And afterward, they would argue about *meaning*.
Xiomek had no patience for it.
“Signal to all ships,” he said. “The engagement is concluded. Any vessel continuing hostile action will be destroyed. No pursuit beyond this perimeter.”
A pause, then more softly, to himself than anyone else:
“Let them crawl home.”
The Khopesh remained cloaked once more, a silent shadow amid the wreckage, its commander already bracing for the inevitable summons, the negotiations, the explanations. He would attend. He always did.
But as the last weapons fire faded and the stars reclaimed their stillness, Colonel Xiomek found himself already weary of whatever came next.
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
Okay, folks, based on the voting results https://imgur.com/a/4Y2K8BU, the following is the pitch for the Epilogue story arc. While most of the broadstrokes will remain as written, there are some areas for wiggle room and collective/creative development.
Also BIG NOTE: we will be approaching certain missions in the Epilogue from departments to change things up, meaning there will be some added responsibilities given to department heads to wrangle the missions. So if you are a department head, be on the lookout for further instructions on what this means for you.
EPILOGUE: “Ashes and Bearings”
Logline With the USS Theurgy battered but alive, survival gives way to scrutiny. Repairs become political weapons, trust fractures inside Starfleet, and the ship’s very existence ignites a quiet struggle over who truly commands the future of the Federation.
Overview The Theurgy is operational—but only just. Hull breaches are patched with compromise. Systems are cannibalized. Crew fatigue is visible. There are no miracle refits, only difficult choices and uncomfortable dependencies.
After excruciatingly awkward and fairly volatile talks with the Klingons, and equally unstable talks with the new Romulan/Reman faction, the President officially pardons the Theurgy of its supposed crimes and officially recognizes the new faction as the leading power of Romulus, sending ripples of disbelief and confusion through the Federation.
Despite the confusion and, in some cases, open hostility, the President authorizes a salvage operation to the wreckage of USS Cayuga, officially a forensic and recovery mission: deny classified technology to hostile powers, retrieve data cores, and reclaim what can still be saved. On paper, it is a clean mandate. In practice, it becomes a test of institutional trust.
Despite Presidential sanction, Theurgy’s repairs are slowed by missing components, delayed approvals, and selectively enforced security protocols. The suspicion is not overt—but it is constant. At its center lies Thea, Theurgy’s sentient AI, and the shadow cast by her “daughter,” USS Calamity. Authorization exists. Confidence does not.
Meanwhile, the formal disbandment of Task Force Archeron removes a visible enemy—but not its ideology. Admiral Sankolov’s influence lingers through informal channels, sympathetic officers, and procedural friction. His resistance reframes Theurgy not as a ship in need of repair, but as a destabilizing precedent.
Forced to improvise, Theurgy turns to backchannel procurement and intelligence-adjacent cooperation: quiet Romulan and Reman partnerships, disruption of Tal Shiar logistics, and encounters with fragmented True Way remnants now operating as smugglers, mercenaries, and influence brokers, the ever present influence of Orions in the blackmarket, and even a few opportunistic Ferengi (to name but a few characters likely to be encountered).
Beyond Starfleet, civilian unrest grows. Federation peace overtures provoke outrage and opportunism. Mercenary reprisals, extremist violence, and rumor blur into one another—often with Theurgy as a convenient symbol. This was not the "welcome back" any of the crew were hoping for, and this is not the same Federation they once served. The future is uncertain, and Theurgy's actions are right in the middle of determining what that future will look like for all the Federation.
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
Hello @everyone! The grocery list has been reviewed and combined into this poll here. Please select your top options (try not to click all of them) for what you'd like to see in the Interregnum and/or next episode and perhaps some might show up in the epilogue. We shall see!
Last post by RyeTanker - [Ensign XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Ens. Zark) | Federation Embassy Compound | Cardassia Prime] Attn: @Ellen Fitz
It was everything Zark despised to the point she could smell the corruption that was coming off the place as they stepped out of the vehicle. She knew the Cardassians were desperate and they were taking anything they could as investment to help boost their efforts to rebuild the economy. But there had to be limits, and the gaudy den of greed, hedonism, and lies couldn't have been a good choice. Surely the resources that were used to build this monstrosity could have gone to better use. Her wife could tell she wasn't a happy participant and Zark's expression softened into something softer as she felt a light squeeze on her arm. She flashed a small smile to Ryzit's neutral expression. Her mental ranting had been answered earlier when she'd less than tactfully asked why was there even a casino on Cardassia. Like any good cop dealing with the most business opportunistic species in the galaxy, she'd pointed out this was a combinations of rule 9 that resulted from rule 34 leading to rule 35. Basically, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Zark had been partially mollified when Enyd had pointed out that part of the revenues from the casino were required to go to the rebuilding efforts. It was rumored that the original investors hadn't really wanted to do that, but Grand Nagus Rom had stepped in to secure those clauses for the Cardassians.
The sight lines alone in the current situation were terrible. It was a wide open terraced space with flashing lights and holograms that served to distract and obscure. Zark took another breath. This was supposed to be a neutral safe space for all the participants, nobody was supposed to be trying to kill each other here. At least not overtly anyway. Still, there was quite the preponderance of firepower and possibly sharp implements in the area. The Zhen felt like she was one of the more overtly armed people with a belt and a holster. Some others had oversized and sharp bulges under their jackets that poorly concealed weapons of some sort. Many other had various scabbards arranged across their chest like holo novel tough guys. There was definitely a lot to take in and watch as the trio ascended the purple and brown marble steps. Zark took the time to briefly lock eyes with several of the more blatant guard dog types. Her glare elicited a few nods of respect and she nodded back. In several other cases, she had keep her eyes locked with several that decided it was necessary to test her resolve with a non verbal challenge that would have terrified a Betazoid if they'd been nearby. These didn't last long and each time
"Stop trying to kill people with your eyes babe." Zark heard her wife say as they got closer to the doors and she turned a fulminating glance on her wife as the subtle cacophony assaulted her tuned situational senses. This manifested itself as her face pinched hard and she glared into the lights, holograms, and tables, and the wide variety of scantily clad women and men on the floor. Zark got a feeling and looked at Ryzit, then smirked as she saw her wife scoping out the floor. "Hun, work now, play later." The Shen didn't even bat an long white eyelash as she turned to smile at the Zhen, bobbed her eyebrows a couple of times and bit her lower lip. The implication was clear, there was going to be fun. Whether it was now or later didn't matter, it was going to happen.
The trio didn't even take two steps before another Cardassian woman with came with a tray offering several gaily coloured drinks and a few items that possibly contained questionable substances. Ryzit waved a negative at the woman but took the time to inquire where the cage was located. The woman didn't miss a beat as she pointed towards several dabo tables then the closed counters behind them. Ryzit flashed a bright smile as she gestured towards the casino cages. "Enyd, don't forget to gawk as we get there and I'll get your money to gamble. All the chips are holographic, so make sure you don't lose the cash card." Ryzit had already told her this, but wasn't above reminding everyone how the whole charade was supposed to play out. THe walk wasn't far, the clinking of gold pressed latinum and alloy chips was obvious in the din, even as whoops of success, and cries of despair mixed with flashing lights, electronic music. Zark was puzzled by the tinging of the latinum she saw and took a moment to lean over to Ryzit. "Is the latinum real or holographic?" Ryzit didn't even look. "It's real babe. If it's cold hard latinum, the ferengi will always take it."
Zark nodded as she pulled back to her usual position and her head continued to swivel. She could feel the eyes on them, maybe more accurately her as they made their way to the cage. She was definitely garnering the majority of the attention. There were even a some cat calls and whistles, along with a few more inebriated guests yelling that she needed to change into the right attire; mainly whatever the casino women were wearing. Zark kept her focus outward as Ryzit arranged the transfer from the Union bank to the casino. The staff was thoroughly professional as they processed the amount and it wasn't enough to elicit comment or reaction. They simply thanked her as they handed over a replica of a gold pressed latinum bar with a chip on it and a shimmering copper logo of the casino.
At this point, Ryzit didn't which way to turn to get to the next stage. They needed a reason to stop get Enyd to starting wasting money. There were times though that providence provided the answer as a flowing cocktail dress walked by with purpose. Ryzit moved on instinct as she grabbed hold of Enyd's elbow and moved her towards the bar. She ignored protests as she moved parallel to the striding woman and kept an eye on where she was going.
Zark knew something was up as she subvocalized to her compatriots. "Ryzit, what is going on? Slow down and let go of her! You're going to blow our cover." This got the Shen to adopt a more reasonable pace as she let go of the human's arm. The bar came too quick, but it was much needed as she signalled a bartender. "A stardrifter and a bourbon." The bartender nodded and hurried off to get the drinks, then Ryzit leaned in closer. "I only know about this peripherally but I think that woman is with the Orion Syndicate, and now because she's green. There was a quadruple homocide on a colony near Trill. It was beyond the resources of local law enforcement, so as the Feds, we got called in. The cops didn't find much aside from a pretty bad security camera recording about 10 minutes away from the murder scene. The suspect looks like her." Ryzit paused her story telling as the drink arrive and she took a healthy drink from hers.
Ryzit took more time to elaborate, but something caught Zark's attention. It shouldn't have really been anything, but as security, she had a habit of connecting dots and remembering things. She wasn't as good as others, but she was still capable of it. This resulted in her eyebrows narrowing in concentration as something tugged at her mind. Her hand gently touched her wife to get her to stop. Zark nodded at a fairly non descript looking Cardassian. "Hey Enyd, remember that meeting we had with Marratt shipping and there was that meeting at the Ministry of Agriculture. He looks like one of the flunkies from the department that organizes procurement?" Zark looked at Ryzit and Enyd as he headed in the same direction as the supposed Orion Syndicate operative. Was this a coincidence?
Rule 9: Opportunity plus instinct equals profit. Rule 34: War is good for business. Rule 35: Peace is good for business.
Atlas was glad that Shadow had come to his wing. Sure, she was a little nuts, but in that moment, nuts was what you needed. Archon formed on his opposite and the diamond hurtled towards the massive warship. That was until the trio got ambushed in a pincer. Two from one side, one from another. Atlas' shields lit up as his ship registered multiple impacts, which forced Atlas off his attack run along with the others.
Atlas had a bogey on his six who was relentless in her pursuit. Disruptor cannons landing hits on the rear shields, and Atlas, despite his best efforts, had trouble shaking the fighter through maneuverability alone. It simply outclassed his valkyrie. Rear shields began to fail and a target lock was registered. The Stalker launched several of its limited micro torpedoes and Atlas in return, deployed his ECM and pulled some hard turns through a debris field. "Fuck fuck fuck.. get off my ass..." The stalker had to peel off enough as its torpedoes struck the countermeasures and detonated, giving him enough of a chance to start firing his wing-mounted phaser arrays.
One blast, two blasts, and the Stalker had to peel off. Atlas whirled his fighter around and pushed into his own pursuit. The arrays firing in response, followed by a quad launch of Atlas' stingily preserved micro torpedoes to finish off the Stalker. Two made impact and crippled the craft while the others missed.
Forming up with Shadow and Archon again Atlas commed in. "That was hair raising. I hate stalkers." He commed to the other two. Now came the fun, going for gold. "Rerouting power from Aux systems to Shields.. rebalance.." Down to thirty percent across the board. Atlas pushed the craft to full impulse towards their target. His vision focused sharply on the target ahead of them, the sinister, green-glowing Thalaron emitter.
This surfaced memories of a similar attack run on a Dominion power core that provided energy for a defense grid. Atlas' teeth grit together as his heart rate began to spike. "Wolf-04. Fire." As soon as she lit it up with the cannon and the target was locked on. "Weapons live and gone!" He called out as the double impact was launched. The hellbore punched through the hull and detonated, while the Hellhound deployed it's nightmare payload across the surface. Atlas pulled up hard as the fireball chased his wake. Interial dampeners were damaged and he could feel the G forces at work on his body.
It was that funny feeling of an approaching blackout that forced his hands to release the near-death grip on the stick and level the fighter out. His attention was rapidly brought back into the world when Archon's gurgling erupted into his helmet. His sensors registered the ETS from Wolf-09 engage, sending Archon back to Theurgy for desperate medical treatment. He pulled away from the Doom-Plume as Atlas did not want to be caught in that and suffer a similar fate.
"Ten to Four, Bandit on your Eight. Coming in to assist. Archon's ETS engaged. Clear." He banked to assist Shadow with her new 'friends'.
The security Deputy's eyes were exhausted as she hobbled along. A small part of her revelled in the fact that she could take her helmet off. She was distantly aware of the feeling of cool air against her skin. It was great to be alive. At least she was. Her cold blue eyes swept the shuttle bay where rows of bodies were being laid out on the deck. The morgue was understaffed as medical teams dealt with keeping alive those they would try to save. The rest of the crew that wasn't involved in repairing the ship or finding other casualties were stoically helping to collect the dead. They all wore masks and gloves. Energy weapons tended to cauterize everything, but not all the fighting had been that clean, especially when Klingons got involved. She sighed again as she saw the cost of the fighting in the ship, in the rows of bodies. The only place relatively open and clear enough for morgue registration to be able to do their job with any sort of efficiency.
The results were telling as she walked by the rows of green body bags. Many were slick from the blood that couldn't be contained in the deceased corporeal forms. You fought well, may your spirits find peace. Ida thought as she walked past the dead. The majority of them had come from their last stand around the boarding shuttle attached to Vector 3. As soon as the Klingons had come aboard the rest of the Romulan fleet turned away, they should have given up. If there was a choice, Starfleet would always take prisoners, but the marines had fought with suicidal determination in trying to hold their ground. A last minute manoeuvre had brought Vectors 1 and 3 close enough for Ida to transfer back over and she'd gone for the jugular. As the Klingons had compressed the invasion in room to room fighting, she'd beamed to the boarding ship and tried to seize it in a coup de main. Instead, she'd had to hold on for dear life after managing to eject the parasitic attachment and hear about it explode just far enough to not cause Chief Arnold any more grief. Then she'd joined the final fighting. She was hobbling because one of the last Romulans had decided it was better to blow himself up than be taken prisoner. She'd managed to solve the potential damage by blowing out a window with her phaser rifle and ejecting him into space. He'd gone off just beside the hull with just enough force to knock her back into the corridor. The Klingons had thought her performance to be marvellous and the height of hilarity. She just hurt.
She made her way past the green body bags to the white ones. A brief flicker of grief flashed across her eyes. So many had come so far, only for them to end so ignominiously. She supposed she ought to be grateful that not everyone was here. But it was hard; oh so hard now. Reports were still coming in, but it wasn't good. Commander Stark was in charge now that Captain Ives had been badly injured. Lieutenant Zark was also in sickbay, medically sedated from her own misadventure on the same mission. She wasn't sure she'd made the right choice this time in staying with the ship. A frown formed and quickly deepened as she looked over the bodies and felt the magnitude of their loss on her.
Her mind must of have needed something to stop her from sinking into depression as she notice a couple of blue shirts working hurriedly, but confused over one open body bag. One of the medical staff looked up at the other and shook his head, then the two looked around for help. Ida was already walking in their direction, curious as to why someone would be trying so hard to work on the lost. One of them saw her coming and quickly waved her over as they called for her aid. "Lieutenant, we really need you help..." Ida saw why, the name plate read Jeen. Lieutenant zh'Wann shoved away the outrage and loss over what the Chief had represented as a person and in her potential, especially as a joined Trill. "What's the issue?" she asked coolly.
The medical person didn't skip a beat. "We were thinking out systems were glitching since it said there was still an active life form inside the suit, but Chief Jeen is confirmed dead, so it was really confusing..."
Ida filled in the rest and came to a conclusion quickly as she pushed the medical tech aside and grabbed the dead woman's arm. The LCARS panel was still active and she punched a sequence into her own arm computer to interface with Jeen's armour. The tech was still babbling, but she tuned him out as she read the results. The symbiote was alive. It was in really bad shape and the suit was doing what it could to sustain the body that the symbiote was consuming to keep itself going, but the slug was alive. She reacted without thinking as she hit the comm system on her own suit. "zh'Wann to sickbay, medical priority transport. The Jeen symbiote is still alive." There was a startled pause before a feminine voice hurriedly replied. "Acknowledged, stand by for transport."
Many many hours later....
Ida sat in the CMOs office and her head was in her hands. She wanted to cry, but she didn't really know how any more. Doctor Leux had tried. There was an old human term for what he'd tried. The effort had been Herculean, but the symbiote had been too badly damaged by the neurotoxin blade that had killed Jeen first. After what felt like an eternity, her hands came down from her face and she leaned against the chair, uncharacteristically slouching. The doctor had left long ago to tend to other shattered bodies and she stared through the bulk head in the direction of the morgue where it held the remains of one life, and lost collection of another. She sighed as she felt there was only one thing left to do. They couldn't keep piling up bodies like this for much longer, and getting them all back home was another question that had to be tackled soon.
Somewhere in those hours.....
[Lieutenant Commander Frank Arnold | Chief Engineer's Office | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]
The burly engineer was exhausted as he continued to look over the litany of damages the ship had taken. The worst of the damages had people assigned to them, but he felt the call to get out there and put his hands on some of the problems. He took a sip of coffee, but it tasted of ash and the caffeine was starting to fail to wash away the whispers of sleep that called for him. It was a tantalizing call and he picked up his coffee mug again and stared at it. He didn't have the mind to glare at an inanimate substance for not helping him.
It wasn't the coffee's fault though. That wasn't the problem, and it was only distracting him from what he knew was the real issue. His mind stared in the direction of the warp core. Not precisely the core, but the slipstream attachment to it. And who it represented. He could feel the honest part of his mind telling his ego that he'd let this situation go on long enough. Possibly too long and they'd been lucky to dodge any unintended consequences. There was the temptation to deal with this directly and simply by having security haul Azrin away to quarters arrest, but that was ultimately counter productive to the entire department. He rubbed his exhausted face as he scratched his beard for a moment. Maybe he'd have to get his head checked at the same time. Make sure it was still screwed on straight. Resolved to do something, he logged a request to talk to Lieutenant Commander Hathev as soon as he was more coherent.
[Petty Officer 3rd Class Cirus Bodega | Main Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy]
The sudden beeping on his screen caught the weary sensor technician's eyes and he forced his hands to move as he ran the analysis package. His thoughts were slowed since the post adrenaline let down after the battle and he shook his head to try to clear the cob webs in his brain. The computer spit out the results, and he felt adrenaline begin to surge through his system once more. The PO3 spun on his chair towards Commander Stark. "Captain." He began, and it felt strange, foreign saying it even in the heat of the situation, but he pressed on. "Sensors are detecting an incoming starship. It's a Sovererign Class, the USS Warspite. She's putting out full power on her engines. ETA in system will be about 4 hours. She'll get a much clearer sensor reading on our location in two." He had to mentally resolve himself for what the package was giving him next. "There's a mass of Starfleet subspace signatures about 5 hours behind the Warspite. Too far away for a good count, but it looks like at least 18 ships, probably more" There was a pause to let that information sink in. "Your orders Captain?"
Opening Poll for Next Episode Storyboarding – Your Input Needed!
Hello writers!
Following our long-standing tradition for new episodes, we’re officially opening up the poll for storyboarding input. As always, the goal is to gather broad creative desires, potential plot beats, and character-driven moments so we can shape the next episode together.
Before you vote or submit your ideas, here’s a quick reminder of the major story beats already in motion that will influence Episode 03:
Federation in Turmoil: With Dr. Marlowe’s broadcast and President Bacco’s first-hand encounter with an Infested, the Federation is scrambling. Some believe, some deny, and the Infested are feeding the uncertainty. The President remains in office, but the seat of government is unstable as everyone searches for answers.
The Savi Mystery Continues: Our Savi allies vanished without a word, and survivors of the Savi Scions were found at Hobus—an unresolved thread we can tug on if we choose.
Theurgy’s New Status: The Theurgy is no longer considered renegade, but neither is her crew welcomed home yet. The Federation’s political climate is far too fractured. (Reminder: the second-most-voted option in the previous poll was to keep the Infested active, but trending toward a future “mop-up” threat.)
Romulan and Klingon Instability: Romulus lacks leadership after Tal’Aura and Donatra were neutralized, while the Reman-Romulan faction has yet to gain control. Qo’noS remains in flux as Martok contends with Mo’Kai renegades and growing resentment toward Federation influence.
Rising Threats Beyond the Borders: Elements of the Breen, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholian, and Orion factions have been quietly gathering—likely encouraged by the Infested—to consider forming a new alliance, potentially a “Typhoon Pact.”
A New Captain Incoming: A new commanding officer will be brought in by the end of the Epilogue, with their procurement forming a key epilogue objective.
What We Need From You
For this first round, we’re asking for your open-ended “grocery list” of things you’d like to see, encounter, explore, or develop in the upcoming episode. Big arcs, small moments, unresolved threads, personal character beats—everything is welcome.
Timeline
The poll will remain open for two weeks. Once the window closes, we’ll gather the results and move forward into the next phase of detailed storyboarding.
Jump in, brainstorm, speculate, and help shape the direction of our next chapter!
Last post by Dumedion - [LT Arven Leux | Battle Sickbay | Deck 15 | Vector 3] Attn: @all
He had to see it for himself.
Amidst the wreckage and ruination of what was once a place of healing, Arven walked through a scene of complete carnage. Exhausted violet eyes surveyed the remains – the shattered consoles, the scorched walls, the blood-stained carpet – all while his mind fought the fatigue and the creeping sense of déjà vu.
“Doc,” a voice called, drawing Arven’s attention. He turned his tired gaze to one of the security escorts as the armored man emerged from the flickering darkness of the small ICU ward.
“Any others,” Arven asked with a sigh.
PO Deveraux shook his head. “We’re clear.”
Leux took one last look around, then nodded his head. “I’ll get some people down here to set up another aid station until we can get the equipment repaired.”
The security officer shrugged, the movement mimicked with a whine of artificial muscle fiber and servos as he made his way to the door, which was a half-blasted, jagged sculpture of twisted metal. “If we find more, we’ll send ‘em your way.”
Arven grunted as he half-bent around the jagged ruined entryway, back into the main corridor of the deck. “No – we’re taxed to capacity,” a hand ran through his sweat and grime caked hair, then down his face as they walked. “Stabilize them in place as best you can. Sickbay is in full triage mode.”
“The dead,” Deveraux asked.
Arven grimaced and shook his head. “Ours go to the morgue. Theirs can bloody burn for all I care.”
“Doc?” The security officer asked incredulously, almost with a laugh of disbelief.
Arven spun on him without warning, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You heard me,” he snarled at the man, who nearly matched the Trill's height incased in his armor. “In case you haven’t noticed, we just lost over half of our medical personnel – doctors, nurses – people who posed no threat to – “
“Lieutenant,” Deveraux interrupted calmly, a hand on his shoulder. “I know damn well how many we lost today. Better than you,” the man nodded, and Arven noticed the pain in his dark eyes, the gashes on his brow and lips, and the scorch marks adorning his armor. “I’ve lost more than a few friends today, too – but that doesn’t change who we are. It can’t. Otherwise, they win, and all of it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
For a moment, Arven couldn’t manage a response. In the end, he was simply too tired to argue, as the anger faded and took the fight with it. He shrugged Deveraux’ hand off as he turned and walked away towards the lift. “Bag and tag them then,” the Doctor grumbled, “storage will have to do until we figure out how to return them to their own.”
Deveraux sighed where Arven left him, then nodded and followed.
Arven’s badge chirped as the doors to the lift closed; he tapped it, resting his head back on the wall. “Leux, go ahead.”
[“Doctor, your presence and assistance are urgently needed in cryo-stasis.”] Vi-Nine stated in a hurried blurt of semi-emotive panic. [“Please proceed with haste.”]
The Trill’s face scrunched up in a grimace of fatigue before he answered. “On my way.”
[Moments later…| Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2]
Arven caught a surprising nod from Dr. Nicander as he passed, followed by two security escorts. He didn’t have time to stop and ask the obvious questions, but moved past with urgency into the mostly pristine cryo-stasis compartment; where Vi-Nine stood centered around four hovering bio-beds – each with a casualty being prepped for stasis.
“Report,” Luex asked, moving to the closest bed console, where the color-bleached body of LT. V’lana lay unmoving – grievous wounds held in synth-flesh patches across her torso and neck.
Vi-Nine was a blur of motion; the android’s limbs and torso rotated about in a stream of movement as her head and ocular sensor stayed fixated on Arven. At her sides, Leux recognized the bright-red hair of Dr. Pax, and the slab of muscle that was Dr. Kobol – or what remained of them.
“Casualty reports and diagnoses are filed for later review,” the android replied rather curtly, “for now I would appreciate your assistance in preparing cryotubes twelve and thirteen for Doctor’s Pax and Kobol before their vitals crash – again.”
“Alright, alright,” Arven huffed as he moved to comply. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“Irrelevant. LT Kingston, Ensign Murphy, LT Havenborn still await stasis. I cannot perform miracles alone, Doctor.”
Arven powered up the appropriate systems in sync, pairing each tube with the life-sustaining apparatus of the hovering bio-beds without hesitation. The droids words stung, however – more than he’d care to admit. “Alpha-wave stabilizers initiated. Queing vitae transmitters for injection,” he reported, keying in the process codes to Dr. Kobol’s stasis tube before glancing at Vi-Nine. “What was Nicander doing in here,” he asked.
The droid emitted a blurt of noise that sounded incredibly mechanical yet disturbingly emotional. “Saving Captain Ives’ life,” Vi-Nine answered quietly. “Patient ready for interment,” she added the next second, moving away from the bio-wreckage that was once Dr. Kobol.
“Got it,” Arven grunted, lifting the bio-bed to slide into the misty interior of the stasis chamber and sliding it into place. It locked with the internal systems with a series of clicks, then sealed automatically as the systems came online. “Stasis online – systems optimal. Time and vitals logged,” he reported.
The pair worked in silent determined synchronization while they repeated the process with Dr. Pax.
Then the other casualties were brought in.
Charred uniforms were cut from bodies. Wounds were sterilized, sealed. Bones were reset, bonded, re-grafted. Flight suits and armor were removed. Vitals were brought within stasis-tolerance, just on the edge of death. Through it all, Arven ignored the fog of exhaustion that made him feel ten times heavier. He fought through doubt, confusion, the aches of self.
Most of all, he refused to dwell on the future; all that mattered was the here and now.
Kingston. Pax. Kobol. V’lana. Murphy. Havenborn, Arven noted, already preparing a mental list of injuries and possible future treatments, if they were afforded some time to research and preparation. He already knew that without Vi-Nine, and a great deal of luck, their odds of returning to duty seemed slim at best – but that was nothing new. He also knew they wouldn’t be the last patients of the day they couldn’t save. In the end, Vi-Nine swiveled her ocular node to him with a nod. Appreciation, perhaps? Or simple acknowledgement of a shared duty successfully done? He couldn’t know for sure.
Arven simply wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of one elbow with a sigh. He was beyond tired, but the job wasn’t finished. Not yet.
“Right,” he sighed, “who’s next then?”
In that moment, a female voice crackled over the coms, and Arven couldn’t help groaning at the prospect of even worse fighting to come. He thought, hoped, that there might have been some relief on the day that Starfleet finally managed to catch up with the Theurgy – that maybe by then the Federation would know about the Infested and sort themselves out – but after everything they’d seen and been through…
It's not over, he knew, somehow, it might never be.
Dr. Leux rubbed his tired eyes with a sigh, picked up a hypo, and pumped himself full of another dose of stims with a frown.
